


Of a Muggle Funeral

by Clue1117



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brain Injury, Family, Funeral, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:45:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clue1117/pseuds/Clue1117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dad, umm, Uncle. Well, Vernon." Dudley's awkwardness is really rather entertaining. </p><p>"Yes, what about him?" I inquire, trying not to sound irritated. </p><p>"He's dead. On Wednesday. The service is next Friday."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of a Muggle Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not a new work, just transferring it over from ff.net.

The phone rings loudly in the sitting room while I'm nursing Lily. Kreature enters, the phone clutched in his hand, still emitting it's shrill alert; he didn't answer it.

"Shall I take the young madam, Mistress Potter?" he asks as he extends his thin arm to hand me the phone.

"No thank you, Kreature; she's feeding."

"Of course Mistress Potter." His voice is croaky and toad like as he gives a sweeping bow and backs out of the room.

I quickly hit speakerphone and place the no longer buzzing muggle device on the counter. "Hello?"

A slight throat clearing, then "Ginevra?" Without much thought I can conclude who the mid-afternoon caller is; there are only two people who call me that and only one of them is male.

"Good afternoon, Dudley"

"Good afternoon. Ginevra, is-"

He doesn't get any further because I cut him off. "Please, Dudley. My name is Ginny, nobody calls me Ginevra, especially not family."

There is a nervous clearing of the throat, then "OK;" More a grunt than anything else.

After a pause he seems to remember what he's doing because his voice echoes in the receiver "Is Harry there?"

\-----

"Honey, the phone's for you!"

"Okay!" I call back before turning back to James. "Daddy needs to go take this call, but I'll be back in a minute and we can finish up with the polish."

"But I want my broom to look perfect for tomorrow" James pouts.

"I promise! Why don't you ask Al if he wants to help?"

"No! He'll hurt Chester!"

"Chester?"

"My broom. He was sad that he didn't have a name."

"I see. Well, I promise Al won't hurt Chester and I promise I'll be back as soon as I'm done this call."

Standing from my crouched position by the coffee table and Chester I walk to the den and pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" Upon hearing that I've got the call I hear the beep that means Ginny has hung up the other extension.

"Harry, it's Dudley"

"Oh, hello. Everything all right?"

"Not really"

I feel the cold weight of dread settling in the pit of my stomach, something I haven't had to deal with in eight years. What could be so horribly wrong that Dudley would call? Christmas cards were one thing but this… well, this did not bode well. It wasn't even December! Could there be some dark force threatening the muggle world?

"Umm… Harry?"

"What? Oh, sorry. What seems to be the problem Dudley?" I ask, pulling myself out of that pessimistic train pf thought.

"Dad, umm, Uncle. Well, Vernon." I can't help but relax. This doesn't sound world threatening. And Dudley's awkwardness over what to call Uncle Vernon is really rather entertaining.

"Yes, what about him?" I inquire, trying not to sound irritated.

"He's dead. On Wednesday. The service is next Friday. Thought you ought to know."

Something in those words was oddly familiar, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. "Umm… Where?" I ask at last, unable to think of anything else to say but feeling I should really stop floundering about with my mouth half open.

"St. John's Cathedral. On Great George Street. Twelve o'clock." His voice is mechanical, as if he has memorized this all and has no emotional connection to the information.

For a long moment I can't come up with anything consoling to say, because although I am the first to admit I never fully forgave Vernon, Dudley had paid his penance and I would never be one to belittle the pain of loosing a parent. Finally I said, with as much emotion and sincerity as could be willed into such a clinical response, "I'll be there."

And I would. I would sit through two hours of hard wooden pews and praise for a man who had made my life hell for eleven years and six summers, but I wasn't doing it for Vernon. I was doing it for Dudley, who had become family in the emotional sense over the past few years. I would do it because family helps each other out and because I couldn't help wondering how much easier the loss of my parents would have been if I had had a family in that way, a family that cared. Then again, loosing Sirius, even with Ron and Hermione and Ginny, had been, in so many ways, worse; that memory was still fresh and bitter, burned into my mind beside the broken Dumbledore beneath the Astronomy Tower and the dead lined up in the Great Hall, neat and orderly, completely at odds with the battle just finished.

And so, as Dudley mumbled a hasty goodbye, his voice strained with the effort of keeping his emotions in check, it came to me, who Dudley had echoed. They were the words that Quirrell had uttered after letting in the troll.

\-----

I step into the sitting room and see Ginny, her back to me as she rocks Lilly and stares absently out the window.

"Honey," I say quietly, not wanting to startle her, "next Friday, I'm going to my uncle's funeral."

She turns at my voice. "And why would you want to do that to yourself? You didn't exactly get on, or are you so noble that you've chosen to forget all qualms with him now he's dead?" I've always loved how blunt she can be, and we've been together long enough that her harsh statements of reality don't faze me.

"I hardly speak well of Voldemort, and he's dead," I counter easily.

"True, but you just don't talk about him much at all."

"Nor do I talk about my uncle."

"Well, you are now. So why are you going?"

"Dudley." She just quirks and eyebrow, so I continue. "He's family, you can't deny that, and he deserves to have someone there who can honestly tell him that it's not the end of the world."

After a pause she says "We'll have to get Lily a proper dress and mend James' suit."

"Oh, no, you and the children don't have to come, they'll never sit still that long anyways."

Smiling she gives a slight shrug, careful not to dislodge the nursing Lily and smiles "family," before turning to face the window again.

\-----

"Who are we going to see, Dad?" James is clearly hoping this won't last too long, because he has a deep dislike for his muggle suit.

"It's a funeral, James, not a recreational visit." Ginny is beginning to get exasperated by James and Al's whining and questioning, so I figure it's going to be my turn soon, even if I am driving.

"What's a funeral?" Al asks innocently from the back.

I cut in before Ginny gets too stressed out; muggle transport scares her a little, whether she admits it or not. "A funeral is held for someone who's died. It's a chance for the people who knew them to say goodbye."

Al looks alarmed. "We're going to see dead people?"

"Will there be ghosts?" James just sounds excited.

"No, there won't be ghosts; the man who's funeral this is was a muggle. Yes, there will be a dead body, but you don't have to look at him if you don't want, okay, Al?" As I finish my explanation I glance in the rear-view mirror at my children, only James old enough to be free of a car seat. Al looks pensive while James has the little smile that means he is plotting mischief and I make a mental note to keep Al close by for the afternoon. Lily is oblivious to the conversation, focused instead on her plush rabbit, whose name is just Rabbit.

"Daddy," Al begins, "who died?"

I had wondered how long it would take for this topic of conversation to rise. "Your great uncle, Uncle Dudley's dad… my uncle. Vernon."

Al's forehead develops a little wrinkle that reminds me fiercely of his namesake before he asks, "I thought you didn't like your aunt and uncle; I though they were mean to you."

"They were, but Dudley and I get along now and Aunt Petunia isn't the most comforting woman on the planet, so I'm going as… a favour."

"Why do we have to go then?" James asks, a little petulantly.

Before I can answer Ginny snaps, "stop bothering your father, James. He needs to focus on the road." The car can't be all that has her worked up, it's not enough to make her snap at the kids, but I don't know what's worrying her so much.

The rest of the car ride passes in relative silence, the exception being Lily's giggles at the imagined antics of her rabbit.

\-----

"There was a spot there, honey." Ginny's irritation is leaking into everything she says, which means something is really bothering her, because six brothers and a nosy mother taught her how act.

"Yes love" I say, making my voice as calming as I can. The London traffic is beginning to get to me. I turn on my signals and back carefully into the spot on a quiet side street three blocks away from the Cathedral.

The second I have the car wedged into the tight space Ginny has her seatbelt undone and is stepping out of the car, saying hurriedly "Harry, I need to speak to you."

Slightly startled I step out of the car, carefully putting the keys in my pocket. "What's wrong?" I ask as I come around to the sidewalk and my wife.

"Kreacher, last night…"

"Is he alright?" I ask, alarmed.

"Yes," she looks shocked, "he's fine. But he got a message from Dudley last night and relayed it to me. I've been trying to figure out how to tell you, but time has made the decision for me. Dudley forgot to tell you, and felt you really deserved to know, his mother, uh, your Aunt Petunia - she was in a car crash just over two years ago. She suffered brain damage, specifically to the amygdala, which means most of her memories have become disassociated from the emotions that go with them. She might be 'a little off,' as Dudley put it."

"Oh," I can't help sighing in relief that this is all that has been upsetting Ginny, "The woman was crazy before, and I lived with her for my entire childhood. I'm sure I can handle it."

Clearly calmed by my lack of reaction to the news she leans in to brush a brief kiss over my lips before saying in a much lighter tone "I think the children would like to get out of the car."

Glancing behind me I catch sight of James trying to open the child lock and Lily hitting him playfully over the head with Rabbit. I open the door and James jumps in to my arms before I place him on the sidewalk next to his mother. Albus accepts my hand and steps down calmly, having already unbuckled himself from his car seat. He is old enough to do without, but not tall or heavy enough and James teases him mercilessly about the restraint every time we have to use the car. Luckily, Al is very safety conscious and sensible enough to disregard his brother's jibes and always stay in the car seat. Lastly, I reach in and undo Lily's harness, lifting her out and resting her against my hip, where she wraps her pudgy little baby legs.

By the time I have the car locked and have gathered the necessities for the children from the boot, James is half a block away and Al is standing with his tiny hand wrapped in Ginny's larger, calloused, catcher's hand. I can't help the smile that creeps onto my lips; it shows up every time I get to take a proper look at my family. "Shall we?"

\-----

We have timed it so that we didn't reach St. John's until noon, because we knew from past experience that the children couldn't keep both still and silent for more than thirty minutes. Also, it's always safer to arrive right on time with James; gives him less time to set up mischief.

Dudley and his mother were surrounded by other mourners, hovering by the back table, where wine was being served when we arrived, so I had no chance to say hello and sorry prior to the hour and a half long service that made me wish I could make like Lily and curl up for a nap on Ginny's lap. Even death could not make me believe that Vernon had been a 'kind and giving soul, full of generosity and forgiveness.'

Al stayed completely still, besides the rhythmic tap of his thumb on his thigh, (an odd nervous habit of his,) for the entire service, which is more than I can say of myself. The church was hot and the oppressive, heavy sent of too many perfumes, including Aunt Petunia's, was making my head swim. The roses, wilted with the heat, didn't help the myriad of musky scents, nor did the heavy black clothes of the mourners in the summer heat. My already woozy head began to throb by forty-five minutes in and I was reminded painfully of the cracking and pounding pains my scar used to cause me. It is the last thing I need when the Priest's dry, crackling voice was already bringing unpleasant memories of my childhood to the surface. The pain caused me to squirm agitatedly.

James was worst, trying to distract Al and getting out of his chair to stretch, though he was better than at Luna's wedding, during which he ran into the aisle to hug his mother when she led the procession as Luna's maid of honour. I could see him trying to get a look into the coffin, comfortably nestled in front of the pulpit where the droning priest stood, delivering his grueling praise for my dead uncle. He was clearly plotting something, and I suspected it had to do with Al because he kept poking him and trying to get his attention, whispering things I couldn't hear above the rasping of the eulogy.

By the time everyone rose for a minute of silence in Vernon's memory I was cursing the day I stopped carrying Advil in favour of a pain relief spell Hermione had taught me. As the painful speech ended I stepped behind James and leaned over Al to talk quietly to Ginny. "I'm going to go speak with Dudley, can you keep an eye on James? He has something planned…."

"Of course; give Dudley my condolences." She squeezes my hand and gives me a reassuring smile, her other arm occupied in cradling Lilly, who is still asleep.

Returning her smile I walk to the large clump of upper-class ex-Grunnings associates of Vernon's, all shaking the hands of Dudley and Petunia and looking far sorrier than they really are. I hang back a little, waiting for the businessmen to move off, towards the wine and h'ordeuvres.

Petunia notices me first and extends a hand, saying "Hello, Harry," with exactly the same tone as she had used on the Grunnings men before me. There was no contempt or displeasure, only polite sadness. She clearly knew me, remembered me, but she wasn't being cruel. "You're eyes look awfully like my sister's." It was an odd comment and I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the damage to her brain was more extensive than Ginny had let on.

Hearing his mother's voice Dudley turned slightly from where he had been talking to Mrs. Grant, a neighbour from Little Whinging. She was old now, her face deeply lined and her back stooped while her skin was thin and papery, showing blue veins. It made me realize how very long it had been since I had left Number Four. While I had been getting married and having children and battling evil, so had her son, who had left home to train with Scotland Yard just months before I turned seventeen.

Petunia had aged as well, seeming too frail to endure the handshakes that had been bestowed upon her, with wispy white hair and a slack sagginess that didn't suit the crisp efficiency I remembered. Dudley extended a large, meaty hand, so much like his late father. I accepted it as I had Petunia's and shook it, reminding me of our departure from Privet Drive.

"My condolences." It had to be the most impersonal thing I could have said and I cringed slightly, brain working furiously to come up with something that actually purveyed emotion. "I know what it's like to loose a parent."

"Both of your parents are dead, and your mother is my sister. So, my sister is dead. And I'm sad about that, right?" Petunia looked enquiringly up at her son and I almost felt pity for the woman who had carefully toed the line of outright abusing me for my entire childhood.

"Yes, mum, that makes you sad. You loved your sister." Dudley doesn't look at her, or me but over at Ginny who is holding the baby Lily and searching in her purse for something. (I find the lack of James or Al clamouring around her legs ominous, but have other things to deal with at the moment.) I can't help wondering if he's done a lot of this reshaping of his mother's emotions after the accident. She certainly didn't seem to hold too much contempt for me.

"Her name was Lily, just like your daughter." She says turning to face me. "Did you name Lily after your mother?"

"Yes," I say, surprised she knows her great niece's name at all. "She knew how to truly love and that is a legacy we hope our family can continue forever."

Petunia tugs on Dudley's sleeve, bringing him down to her, so that she could whisper in his ear. She clearly didn't want me to hear, but she had lost the sense of volume with age. "Why didn't I give him the same things as you?"

Looking uncomfortable Dudley said back "I'll explain when we get home, okay? For now, just keep in mind that he's your nephew and you like family." His words make me curious and I want to know how much of the anal retentive, desperately middle class Petunia I grew up with survived that car crash and how much is Dudley's new creation.

\-----

"I'll see you at Christmas" I say, extending my hand for the farewell.

"Yes," he answers, "I'll call closer to the date, but it would be great if you and Ginny" here I noted the use of my wife's preferred name, "could make it." He takes my hand and we shake.

"Yes, it would be lovely for the children to get to know each other, and I promise James will be on better behavior."

"It's alright. I understand" he says, glancing sideways to where his own son is playing at his wife's feet. I know that the statement is much more sweeping that just the young child; it is family, the loss of family and the regaining of family. "Thanks for coming, I really appreciate it." Still holing my hand he pulls me into an awkward hug, one arm around my back, the other sill holding my hand. I reach around and pat him on the back, but it doesn't last long. As we pull away, Dudley first, he looks at his shoes. "I know it's been years, but I just want to make sure you know, I'm sorry;" I don't know what to do or say. I've never heard Dudley use the word 'sorry' with any level of sincerity before, nor has he ever flat out apologized to me for anything, so the idea of his expressing regret for all the wrongs he did me when we were children is more of a shock than the day I met Sirius.

But he ruins the moment by adding, "that cup of tea outside your door really was supposed to be nice; I didn't mean for you to step on it."

Nodding I answer honestly "I know, and I appreciate it."

So maybe we weren't going to be friends just yet, but it was a step in the right direction, and we had Christmas to look forward to and to carry us farther down this path that I hoped ended in perfectly average family relations. Then again, is anything concerning family ever average, I can't help thinking as I watch Lily bash Ginny over the head with Rabbit and James pick Al up by the ankles, all framed between a lost looking Petunia and an awkward Dudley. And I smile, as I always do when I get to take a proper look at my family.


End file.
